Photogenic
by Social Twist
Summary: AU!Possibly OOC. Mention of recreational drug use, slash and OMC.Set when Snapes 19, an artist decides that Snape is a work of art and does what he can to get those eyes to speak. MWPP come to see the real Severus. New writing style.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: not mine making no money

Summery: AU!! Big time!! Possibly OOC. Mention of recreational drug use, slash and OMC.

Set when Snapes 19, an artist decides that Snape is a work of art and does what he can to get those eyes to speak. MWPP also come to see.

A/N: wanted a break - massive plot bunny that stayed in my head. Wanted to try something different style wise.

The first time I ever set eyes on him, I knew what he was. Art.

In a smoky dimly lit bar, grey swirls dancing in the air and bright lights glittering from the glasses he blended in and stood out all at once. He was thin, painfully so but he was long limbed, walking that fine fine between awkward and graceful. Black hair fell far past his shoulders, slightly greasy but appealing in a rough way, big black eyes devouring everything they looked at. Nose too large but anything smaller would not have suited him. Lips thin with the promise of lushness, high sharp cheek bones, strong jaw, long fingers…

The man was hook nosed, greasy, skinny and dark, to an untrained eye they would more then likely call him ugly. But I knew he was beautiful, and bringing it out, displaying it to the world, presenting him as the art he truly was, would be my magnum opus. Seeing him talk to a friend of mine I quickly moved in, introducing myself and joining their conversation.

Severus Snape…even his name had an artistic ring.

He was 19, unemployed and bitter, with a biting wit, sarcastic humour, obscure knowledge and all in all enjoyable company provided you were as down to earth as he. I only briefly introduced myself, my name, and my profession as an artist and photographer. I detected a slight sneer at the nature of my work and was quick to engage him in an enjoyable debate on the topic. I took this as an opportunity to watch him closely; see the way his long fingers wrapped around his drink, his way of looking up at you through his hair, eyes guarded, the subtle shifts in his body, his legs, his hips. The man was complexity itself, and with each passing second I seemed to find another layer to him, another expression I wanted to explore, another view I wanted to discuss.

I was quick to establish how to get in touch with him and arrange another meeting. As friends.

These casual drinks in various pubs with or without mutual friends carried on for some time. I noticed his style and clothing choices; mostly black with some shocks of white and grey, clothes that while not form fitting, seemed to emphasize his small build, and always layers - shirts, jumpers, long coats, scarf's…I imaged even seeing him wearing a t-shirt to be quiet an intimate experience. I began to form ideas of how best to present him to the world…black and white photographs or a dimly lit room, eye contact shots to capture his intensity. After several drinks, and a few questionable cigarettes, I made sure to mention to him, in his relaxed and mellow state that I would love to have him model for me. He would always smirk and make a sarcastic comment.

Finally, months after we became drinking buddies, I managed to get him to my place. It was a Sunday, all the pubs shut early, and like most young men our age, we still wanted to drink. I suggested my place- it was close, warm, full of booze, food and all the popular drugs of the age. Looking at me with his deep eyes, already starting to mellow, he said "why the fuck not" and proceeded to stager heavy footed and swinging arms down the road. The walk was full of jokes, laughter, walking in to walls…neither of us were that drunk, just at the wonderful stage where you still feel in control of yourself, but the world is such a great place that you can relax. Severus's long limbs swayed with a loose graceful manner, emphasising his words, and his shoulders were back. He looked every inch the young man he was.

Making it back to mine, I was quick to dim the lights and grab some drinks from the well stocked fridge. Handing one to Severus I told him to make himself at home while I cleared away a pile of washing that was on the couch. Throwing it in my room, I grabbed my camera on impulse, just in case. If nothing it could be a talking point.

Stumbling back to the living, I felt my heart skip a beat as I took in the scene. Bathed in yellow light, Severus was splayed on the floor next to the coffee table, legs spread and knees bent to get close to it. He had taken his overcoat off, and was clad in black jeans and a black shirt with the top two buttons undone. His long, clever fingers were rolling a joint and when he flicked his gaze at me there was a challenge in his eyes. Smirking, I flopped on the couch next to him, took a drink and took the first drag when it had been rolled.

This was good…

Relaxation was swirling in my veins, my grin turning sloppy, my hands seeking out and touching, laughter coming easy. Severus seemed much the same, although he never seemed to be as clumsy in his movements as me. His eyes still seemed guarded, his words deliberate…I wondered if an orgasm would help him relax that final step…

Pointing at my camera, I made my traditional request to photograph him. I say it was a smirk but I knew my eyes gave away my sincerity. Hell, at this stage they were probably pleading. To my eternal shock, Severus smirked, rolled his neck and asked, in his deep and sensual voice;

"If I let you this once, now, will you shut up about it?"

Mouth open and nodding frantically I stand up quickly, grabbing my camera. This was not how I would have liked to do it, but I would take what I was given. Besides, the surroundings seemed to suit. Looking back at him, I immediately noticed a change in him. His eyes seemed more guarded, his shoulders hunched, his mouth tight in an expressionless smile. He was already regretting it. Smiling, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder I tell him to relax, I wont make him look a fool, that he's beautiful, he will look amazing. I sound a drunken and stoned fool. Still, I put my camera down, pass him another drink, and roll another joint, passing it between the two of us. This time, I sit close to him, shoulder to shoulder, the heat radiating off his body making me eager to touch, and I risk putting a hand on his knee. I talk to him about my work, about what captivates me, about how I want to display him. My comments are met with biting comments, cheeky smiles, rolling eyes and general mockery, but soon his head begins to swing that bit looser, his eyes that bit lazier and his body begins to lean into mine.

Saying nothing and moving slowly, I pick up my camera again, meeting his eyes as I aim my first shot of the night. The light was too bright and yellow, so I dimmed it further, till it was just a glow surrounding black cloth and pale skin. His eyes were still guarded and expressionless as his tilted and shifted this way and that on my request. I was getting to know his body and his forms, how the light would fold around him and I began to become more bold in my requests, knowing that what I had seen in him all those months ago would soon be realised. Keeping eye contact, I reach down and unbuttoned a bit more of his shirt, more pale skin becoming a contrast to his eyes and clothes. I tell him to lick his lips, tilt his hips, I move the angle of the shot up and down, side to side, determined to capture him from every possible angel. As I click away an obscure thought hits me - I wish I had some red lipstick. It would look amazing against his skin and hair, and smudged it would make him look decadent, wanton. Maybe next time…

During all this Severus never spoke, merely kept smoking, the inhale sharpening his cheekbones, occasionally taking a drink, lips becoming wet, eyes seeking out mine. With each click, the intimacy between us seemed to grow and I found myself breathing hard without realising. On impulse, I dropped to my knees, repositioning his legs, bending the knees and removing his boots so his bare, elegant feet could be in the shoot, positioning them against the back of the sofa, the table…

I suddenly realised I was kneeling between his spread legs, with those blown dark eyes staring down at me, an expression I had not seen before blaring out from them. We stared at each other, never moving, never talking.

I wanted Severus. I could admit that from the moment I first set eyes on him. I wanted to make him cry out, see the emotion during the most intimate act. Explore that body and have those clever fingers explore mine.

But he was my work of art.

The allure of Severus was his complexity, his layers, The way his soul was to so closely guarded, but constantly seemed to be shining out of his eyes. Looking at Severus inspired something in you…hate, love, replusion, interest, intrigue, sarcasm…he was something people wanted to touch and influence, for better or worse. But achieving that would remove a little bit of Severus himself…I could never look at Severus as the work of art he was if I slept with him…I would only see him and enjoy him as the undoubtedly great shag he was…If people knew what made the Mona Lisa smile, her charm would have faded centuries ago…I wanted Severus to stay an enigma…to me and my camera.

My argument poorly thought out, but my instants burning, I resign myself to never knowing Severus in the way I truly wished too. But, with my hands gripping his thighs, and his eyes staring down into my soul I knew I had give him release, to experience that most intimate of gazes…

Keeping my camera in hand, and aimed at his face and chest, I reach up and undo his jeans, pulling the zip down and pulling his most personal anatomy into the air. He breaths deeply, knees spreading wider, eyes never leaving mine. The intensity is almost paralysing and I take a few shots, not even sure if my camera is trained on him and where. It does not seem to matter at this point. Wetting my lips, I open my mouth, and try to show him how beautiful he is. He makes the most amazing sounds, soft sighs, and hollow moans, and I notice vaguely that I am still absent mindedly taking pictures. I jump and moan when I feel those gloriously long finger in my hair, gently running through it, and I toss my camera on the couch, running my now spare hand up his chest, under his shirt, exploring his body haphazardly, feeling the bones through his heated skin. Flicking my gaze up, I moan at the sight of Severus, lips parted breathing deeply, cheeks flushed. When he makes eye contact again we both shudder, his eyes boring though me, the acceptance and lust in them seemingly at odds with each other. Keeping my eyes trained on his face, his expression, I notice when his moans get more frantic, and his breath quicker and I know he is close. I pull out all my best moves and soon, he knees and thighs are tense, his fingers gripping my hair and he is achieving that greatest of hormonal highs. Releasing him, panting myself, acutely aware of the hardness between my legs but determined to ignore it, I kiss and nibble at his stomach and hips bones as I tuck him back in. His lands still lazily running through my hair and when I meet his gaze I moan - his eyes had never looked to naked. Before I could stop myself I lean up and kissed him hard, his mouth opening eagerly, fingers on my shoulders. Ripping myself away from his lips I grab my camera and start shooting again, panting and shaking determined to capture that look, that pose…

Legs still spread, but all the fun bits out of sight, shirt rumpled and mostly unbuttoned, head back and shoulders relaxed. Cheeks flushed, lips wet and bruised, looking freshly kissed, but his eyes…god those eyes…

Contentment. Relaxation. Smugness. Sexiness. confusion. Promises. His eyes seemed to promise everything and explain everything that had just happened. His whole body and pose seemed to hint of that sexuality, sensuality, yet it still reminded hidden from casual view, there but not there…

Euphoria of what I felt I had achieved kicked in, and with one final click I put my camera down for the night.

Feeling suddenly so tired, I smiled at Severus and thanked him, promised that I would only use the photos with his permission. He said if I did not he would rip my bollocks off. Laughing I all but collapse next to him. We continued drinking and talking for the next hour, thankfully still at ease in each others company, before Severus gave up the ghost and passed out on my couch…Smiling, I wrap him up in my spare blankets, kissing his forehead in thanks, before heading to my bed for sleep.

Tomorrow I would develop the film, and relive the beauty that is Severus Snape…

"I refuse to believe that fucking _Snape_ is in this exhibit" Sirius scorned.

The four friends were making their way to one of the trendiest galleries in muggle London, dodging passing tourists and natives. The gallery was showcasing the artwork of one of London's top new up and comers, and had already had rave reviews, which the four had only skimmed. They had heard from Frank Longbottom that some of the exhibit featured Snape, or a man who looked remarkably like him and that they had to see it to believe it.

The very idea that Snape could be featured was laughable to James and Sirius- unless the exhibit was on something unpleasant, like ugliness, evil or Halloween. Snape cackling manically over a potion would be amusing and true enough, but not very arty.

Finding the gallery, and making their way through a considerable crowd, the quickly located the artists space and began running their eyes over the work, trying to find anything to do with their childhood enemy.

"I don't see-" James began, before being cut off.

"There!" cried Peter, and all four hurried over. Almost hidden behind a partition and a throng of people was a long blank wall, all of which dedicated to the one, the only Severus Snape.

"Well bugger me," whisper Sirius to the others, "its true…not that this or him could every be art, must have been a total hack that took these pictures"

"Sirius, look at them," Remus whispered, eyes never leaving the first portrait.

The other three turned and for the first time truly looked, and _saw Severus Snape. _

The first portrait laid out was clearly of Snape. He was sitting on a long brown couch, dim lights flowing over him, looking just beyond the camera. He was laying back, head tilted towards the audience, looking at them from the corner of his eyes, which looked huge, and seemed to start right through you, making I difficult to look away. The nose was still too big, but somehow it seemed to fit the face, the dark eyes matching the curtain of long black hair, which peek out behind his back, a few errant stands over his shoulders. His skin was pale, white, a plume of smoke appearing from off camera, made him seem as if he was literal born of the shadows. The stark background and expression seemed to be both challenging and accepting, and the four men could not make comment.

Subconsciously, they moved slowly along with the crowd, the following few portraits from different angles, showing how the light played on his skin, how the shadows made his face both gaunt of flawless,. But recurrent through them all were those big black eyes staring out at you, the expression raw and yet somehow hidden. Coupled with the almost expressionless face it was impossible to know what he was thinking, yet you wanted to know.

The final few pictures made the four stop dead, and each look and wonder. In one, Severus was curled up in the corner of the couch, pale elegant feet peeking out, knees under his chin, fingers curling around them. He looked small and broken and tragic, yet the same challenge was issued from his eyes. In the next one however, the angle had changed as has the layout of the frame. Shot almost diagonally and from a upward angle, it showed Severus from the waist up, shirt suddenly more rumpled and open, eyes half lidded, again looking just beyond the camera. His mouth was open seeming caught in a gasp, his fingers gripping the cushions. It was as if he knew something you did not, and whatever it was was so fantastic…The light reflected his sharp cheekbones, making his face triangular and he suddenly seemed to much more feral, so much more instinctive.

The final picture was stunning. The next transition was from a slightly downward angle and from a greater distance then the others. Snape sat with his legs spread, hands laying limp on slender thighs, shirt almost undone, exposing what seemed to be a pornographic amount of flesh and yet it was barely anything. His head was tilted back, hair mussed (bed head, Sirius mused) and his whole body was relaxed and open inviting you know to look and touch. But his face…His lips wet obscenely wet and slightly swollen, cheeks highlighted with a pink flush, looking like blusher on his white skin, cheekbones casting shadows. But what set the red lips, pink cheeks and white skin off was those damned black eyes. Open wide now, black almost taking up the whole eye, looking stoned, the was a sense of satisfaction, achievement, acceptance, of knowing something you don't know, a hint of happiness and sadness. The eyes seemed raw and naked and although you almost knew what had gone on off camera to get them to look that way, you never fully thought it.

Stepping back, the Griffindores looked at the collection as a whole. Severus never seemed to changed from picture to picture - thin, arms and long fingers, small chested and slim hips, black hair white face. He seemed a mix of punk, junkie and conservative, uptight and relaxed. They could clearly see the boy from the school days in the picture. But his eyes had never held those emotions, his face never so open, his body never so frail.

They wondered who the boy they went to school was, and who he had become.

When the crowd began moving again, the four were shocked to find they had spent 45 minutes looking at the pictures. They made their way to exit the gallery, grabbing some information leaflets on the artist and the exhibit (only to show Lilly, they told themselves) and stepped back onto the London street.

They were silent for a while. There did not seem to be anything to say. They could still feel those eyes staring just beyond them, and they were loathed to admit that Snape actually made a decent picture.

Had to be all due to the artist.

Still…although they said nothing to each other, they all hoped to run into Snape sometime in the future…just to see if those eyes really said that much, and to try and figure out what was being said behind them.

My exhibit was a roaring success, all due to Severus. People reacted just as I knew they would. They saw him. Hell, I think Severus saw himself…

I only hope I can get Severus to allow me to do this again…I have so many more ideas….

A/N

My apologies for the rambling but the idea just would not leave me alone. I don't think I quiet captured my idea so may return to this after some more work on my other fic. I may also do other chapters- preferred pairings people? Sorry if Snape seems OOC but hey, its AU.

I hope the new style did not confuse people - the details of the artist were not important, and conversaion between them would only stunt it

Anyway I gave it a shot.

Let me know what you guys think!

Motivate me with reviews!

Thank you!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no money

Its been over a year since my first exhibition. It was a roaring success, the most fashionable display in London, and I had become almost an instant success. All my work received raved reviews, but my photographs of Severus were in an entirely different league. The Image of a relaxed and satisfied Snape had become iconic of my work, and it brought me great pride to be associated with that image.

Severus had seen the exhibit before it was shown to the public. Silently and efficiently he was absorbed the work, before giving his brief consent. After it become successful, his life had stayed much the same. Our mutual friends had little interest in the world of Art, and the events in London's affluent Art world made no tremors in the shady working class district Severus himself inhabited. If he had been noticed and recognised in the city itself, Severus never told me. I had given him a fair share in my payments for the work, yet he still lived in his dark and spare bedsit, saying it suited him well enough, why move? In truth, I liked the fact that nothing had changed, it kept Severus real, and it kept him mine. Numourus offers had been made by people to meet Severus, to offer him money to pose, or model but he refused everyone with no explanation. I liked to think of that as proof of him trust in me, and his appreciation of my work. But maybe he just liked to make people beg.

I was still begging.

Almost immediately after I had opened the exhibit, I felt the urge to create. And every time I saw Severus, my mind whirled with the artistic and aesthetic opportunities he could offer me. Within my mind I saw Severus dressed in black and white suits, posed with arrogance and flaunting his thinness. I saw him laying on a bed, wrapped in black sheets, a wanton, decadent display, beautifully androgynous. Sitting in front of a fire, the gold and red contrasting with his colouring - warm meeting cold. Wearing thin stripes of cloth masquerading as fashionable clothing, a living canvas for current trends. I wanted a picture with my hand splayed on his chest to show how petite he really was, wanted to make love to him, to see what lustful, intense expressions he would create again. I wanted to put him on a pedestal and worship him, and I wanted to break him and make him beg for me.

It was a typical Severus inspired reaction - polar extremes - the middle ground never enough.

I finally got my chance a cold November afternoon. Severus had come over to my new flat, looking for a drinking buddy to while away the grey day. After the exhibit I had moved to a large loft style flat - more space to work. Black curtains had the potential of blocking out all light, lamps and lights littered the walls and ceilings allowing me to control the glow of the room, and new brushes, paints, canvas and cameras held pride of place. It was all clean lines and shape corners, and I had laughed at the idea that even the place I choose to live had a hint of Severus in its character.

Severus was leaning against the window, gray light surrounding him as we conversed. Wearing tight black jeans, a white shirt and a well used and baggy suit style jacket he seemed half Mod and half punk, yet with a hint of conservatism. He still had his hair long, it was now half way down his back from disinterest, and its strands slid down the front of his face, ink on paper. We had been drinking for a good few hours, the scent of pot and tobacco lingering in the area, and Severus was moving with that easy long limbed grace they overtook him when he was relaxed and indifferent. Feeling cheeky and confident I reached and grabbed my new camera and took a sly shot, when he was leaning against the glass, eyes down, mouth smirking around a cigarette. His eyes darted up at the sound of the camera, and a raised eyebrow was all the question he voiced.

I asked him again if I could take his photo. I asked him if he trusted me, if I could try new things, told him he was so beautiful I wanted to share him with the world again…I babbled for a few minutes, trying to convince him to give me another opportunity, desperation growing, fearing that he was gong to deny me, that I would never get another chance to present him to the world as I saw him…

With a hard voice, slurring slightly from the days drink, Severus said yes….

POV Change

That photographer was showing another exhibit. As James hurried along the crisp spring morning, he tried not to examine his reasoning behind going back to the gallery which had displayed the artwork last time. He tried not the think about why he was going alone…

A crowd was once again milling around at the gallery, and James simply followed the crowd to reach the exhibit, and most importantly, the most anticipated section.

Snape was the model again.

Staring at the first portrait, James noted that Snape had not changed since the last time he posed. Yet he seemed so different. He was leaning hard against a wide glass window, a gray sky outline him thin, skinny frame. Wearing black jeans and a black jacket he stood out startlingly against the dull and boring backdrop. His head was hanging slightly down, hair falling over his shoulders, (it had grown since last time), reflecting the grey light poring into the frame. A long fingered hand was holding a white cigarette to his smirking lips and his eyes were downcast and laughing lazily. It was as if the camera had caught him unaware, an intrusion into a private joke. A relaxed and smiling Snape was an unknown entity to James and he felt slightly unsettled to be staring at the proof that Snape had a personality that knew phrases like laugh, smile and relaxed.

With a throwaway thought, he wondered what he was laughing at.

POV Change

As soon as Severus gave his consent, I downed my drink, thrust a fresh one in his hand and steered him towards the far end of the flat, where all the lights and cameras were set up, eagerly waiting to capture him again. The wall was simple exposed brick, and immediately I knew I would have no need to cover it; it suited Severus perfectly - hard, cold and unwelcoming, yet raw, vulnerable and striking in its simplicity. Severus leaned back against the wall, taking a long drink from his beer as I set up the lights and a few of the camcorders ( I wanted to make sure I managed to capture as much of him as possible). Finally picking up and focusing my trusty camera, I was overcome with nerves. There was so much I wanted to do, so many ways I wanted to present him, I felt almost at a loss as to which I should do first, which Severus would allow.

He was staring at me, eyes drilling into mine, they had lost their mellow, relaxed look and were now hard and challenging again. His deep voice cut through my thoughts and paralysis with a biting:

"Lost your "inspiration" or what?"

Drawing a quick breath at the accusation, I quickly begin to blindly click my camera, suggesting poses and states of dress as I went…

POV Change

Sirius could admit to himself that he was curious and wanted to see what the Photographer had done now. After finding out about the new exhibit, Sirius was quick to make his way to London and to the gallery, wondering if lighting had struck twice and Snape was once again a feature in the show. Pushing his way though tourists and then slinking his way past art lovers, he was again shocked to be confronted with an entire wall of Snape. These were different to the last show thought.

The last ones all relaxed and lazy, calm and contented. These were harder, more challenging and urban. There was a particular set of three which caught his interest right away. It was of "Snivilus" Snape as he remembered him…but not.

Standing in front of a plain brick wall, lights harsh, particularly after the gray wash of the first one, Snape stood sneering at the camera. Nothing spectacular or artistic about that…yet when Snape sneered in school it was never quiet like this…

Black, endless eyes stared hard out at you, looking right into your mind, face taunting and mouth cruel. His head was slightly tilted, his body leaning against the wall, legs crossed at the ankles. The black jeans and coat seemed to make him simultaneously smaller yet bigger against the plain black drop. He made you want to walk up to him and slap the defiant look off his cold face. Sirius felt on edge and tense just looking at him. The second one was much the same, except this time the head was tilted a little more, the shoulders hunched slighty and legs straight. By the third one, Snape had undone his coat and had his hands in his jeans, looking up at you through a curtain of long greasy hair. Throughout the three, cold, hard, defiant eyes stared back at you; a look Sirius was no stranger too. Yet, by the time you looked at the third one, the sense of vulnerability was choking which was at odds with those challenging eyes. He was like a cat - the smaller he became, the harder his eyes, the more you knew he would fight to the death. Sirius felt uncomfortable staring at the third one for too long, felt personally responsible for that look and that defensiveness. Realising his thoughts he snorted and quickly cast his eye over the rest before leaving quickly.

He had to give the Photographer credit - he could almost make you feel sorry for Snape.

POV Change

Severus was hating this. It was in his eyes, his posture. He felt vulnerable. Part of me was ecstatic at the feral looks he was giving me, at the raw emotion I'm sure he was unaware he was showing. Another part was overwhelmed with the urge to reassure and look after Severus, to make him realise how beautiful, strong and unique he was…That part of me won. Putting my camera down I dimmed the lights, grabbed more booze, an ashtray and a pack of cigarettes, before walking over to Severus and slumping down to the floor, pulling him with me by the hand. He sat reluctantly on the floor, body tense and not meeting my eyes.

Feeling cold and scared that he would walk out on me, I passed him a drink and a lit cigarette, and casually told him that he looked fucking fantastic. It earned me a scoff and a sneer, but he took a drink and smoked his fag before asking if I had heard anything about a mutual friend. We talked softly in the dim light, drinking and smoking or what felt like eternity. Slowly, Severus began the relax as the alcohol seeped into his blood, leaning back against the wall again, stretching his long legs in front of him. My eyes raking along his thin form, I felt my alcohol filled blood begin to warm, and the familiar urge to touch and explore, to evoke an entirely different set of emotions and looks from him. Kneeling up slowly, I run a finger gently along the inner seam of his jeans, just above his knee. He regards my movement lazily, neither accepting or rejecting. Reaching slowly for my camera, keeping my eyes on his I aim my shoot to include my hand, to catch my action and his lazy reaction. I was pleased when the click of the machine did not inspire that haunting look at defiance in his eyes. The calmness that was now in the room was deafening.

Giving into the drunken urges I had promised myself to resist, I clumsily stumble forward, nearly falling from my knees, and kiss him. The angle is awkward and his lips cool but still my breath hitched. Pulling back slightly, his eyes still held that same look, a passive acceptance, a resigned understanding. Suddenly aware of my own actions I move to sit back when I felt a cool and long fingered hand on the back of my neck, felt his breath on my lips. When that hand applied pressure, pulling me towards him again I went eagerly, moaning softy as he kissed me back. It was soft and slow, easy and relaxed. Eyes closed, soft moans and wet sharp sounds filled the air and hands simply held onto each other. Oddly enough, there seemed to be nothing sexual in this kiss. Unlike last time, there seemed to be no crescendo building between us, no desperation on my part to make him come undone in my hands, even if I would not allow myself to be undone by his. I was happy, thrilled, ecstatic, just to kiss him and taste him, to bruise his lips and just enjoy this simple yet intimate act. I realised with a jolt that I was now straddling his long legs, one hand on his neck, another in his hair. His hands mirrored my own. I imagined how intimate we would look on the camcorders, how perfectly we would fit together. It suddenly struck me I would be happy for the rest of my days if I could spend them right here, softly kissing Severus Snape. But already, I feel Severus pulling back and the ache in my chest make me realise:

I was falling in love.

Its both tragic and inevitable, the artist falling in love with his art. The intimacy he forms to it is incomparable to anything else. I had seen the beauty of Severus, the moment I laid eyes on him. I had managed to capture some of it and show it to the world. But the world would never, could never, see what I see. Every picture or photographs shows a single second, far removed from its original time. To be with Severus, see the changes every second, memorise every look, to see the influence you can have on him, is a greater high then any drug, bring more happiness then any recognition. It's like painting the most incredible landscape in the world, only to find that a cloud that's just come into view makes it all the more enchanting, that the sun would make it more perfect, the rain more striking, and even then, the image on canvas is just a pale imitation.

I think Severus understands.

He is looking at me now, lips bruised red and wet, cheeks flushed. His face holds a tiny smile, and his eyes are calm and warm, and I distantly see a glimmer of…pity? Apology? Resignation?

For once I'm not sure what his eyes are saying. Instead, I pick up my camera…

POV Change

Peter gave the street a final shifty glance before ducking into the gallery. He had to see the show, see if Snape was there again. If he was and the pictures were rubbish he would have something to bring to the others, to laugh and joke about with them, but if they weren't, he had no intention of telling the guys anything.

Snape was featured again, and to Peters disappointment the pictures were once again, striking. One of Snape against a window, sneering against a wall (Peter found those ones hard to make eye contact with), but his eye was drawn for much longer by the next two.

Still in front of the wall, but this time slumped on the floor, bottle of beer just peeking into shot, The angle was slightly to the left, and Snapes head was tilted making the overall effect quiet dizzy. Snape looked relaxed and mellow. Bottom left, dancing on Snapes inner thigh, was a hand, fingers grazing black fabric. The placement was intimate, but Snape seemed unaware of this. With huge lazy black eyes, he regarded the camera with little interest. His gaze seemed deliberately blank, accepting the world as it was.

The next one though…

Taken almost straight on, and at a much closer distance, those black eyes seemed to be starting right into your soul. His face seemed content, and the bruised, red lips and flushed cheeks hinted at why. Yet his eyes were…almost loving, soft and warm. But at the same time, there was an element of pity when mixed with his small smile…All in all, Peter felt like he had lost something he did not know he wanted…

POV Change

I release a heavy sigh as I put my camera down feeling emotionally exhausted . Severus just raises an eyebrow. Smiling, I thank him and ask him if he wants to order some takeout. The rest of the night is spent drinking, eating and talking. Although it was as enjoyable as ever, the heavy sinking feeling in my chest stayed strong, and I knew my eyes were showing my longing, my self pity, my realisation.

I wonder if Severus can read me as easily as I can read him.

I offer Severus to stay the night, save him the drunken walk home but he declines. I'm not sure if that makes me happy or sad. I promise him final say in what I do with the pictures and he nods his acceptance, and I am stuck with a horrible feeling he will never pose for me again. As I stand at my door, watching him stagger along the road I want to run after him and run away. Want to keep him with me, and make sure I never see him again.

I had told myself the first time he posed that I wanted to keep him a mystery, to myself and my camera. Now I wanted to strip him bare and find all his secrets, only to do it again and again and again. My urge to share him and his beauty with the world was fading rapidly. I only want to show his beauty to him, to document it and explore it for myself. I want to paint him and photograph him in all the poses and looks I have dreamed of purely for my own eye. I no longer wanted Severus to be my art, I wanted him to be my Severus.

Nearly in tears at the realisation of how much Severus has consumed me, I sit on my sofa, and drink the night away…

POV Change

Remus was looking forward to this. Since the first exhibit, he could not get the artist and Severus out of his mind. It was strange and exhilarating, looking at the pictures, seeing the Snape that they all knew but looking at him with new glasses.

He spent the better part of an hour looking at all the pictures, going back and looking at them as a whole and on their own merits. It was just as breathtaking as last time, but the mood running through them was so much different. Seeing Severus change from content, to defensive, to uncaring to pitying was done so flawlessly Remus wanted to know the story behind it so badly. Wanted to get to know Severus.

With a small smile Remus found an empty spot on a bench, and spent another hour, happily drinking in the changing moods of Severus Snape.

POV Change

Once more, I am famous. I have not seen Severus in weeks. He has tried to come round, but I don't tend to answer my door. I need time to fix myself, to go back to seeing him as objectively as possibly. I'll manage it soon. Until then, I amuse myself by drawing and painting him in all my whimsical poses and styles of dress, trying to get back to how I was with him.

But I truly think I am a sadist.

Even now, playing on my video, is the camcorder footage from that session.

We do fit perfectly together…

a/n

Well that turned out far stranger then I thought it would. I did not mean for the photographer to be creepy. I was thinking of making this into a SS/RL fic but that just does not seem to fit…if people arent put off by the character, maybe I should put Snape and the photographer together? Snape is going to have issues which would be fun to put in P's eyes maybe…or maybe I lost you all with this chapter…

Anyway, thank you all so much for your reviews of the first chapter- they really mean so much to me and make my day. Thank you for you constructive criticism and opinions- you guys are great!

Please review! Its how we improve!


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